


Breathe in, Breathe out

by TranquillityofPassion



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst galore, F/M, Gen, but the good kind, the art of inverting cliches, this will probably hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TranquillityofPassion/pseuds/TranquillityofPassion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team has to face the consequences of a textbook mission in Estonia going terribly wrong when a team member gets hurt. Written for the Agents of Shield Christmas Fic Exchange. Gen with Fitzsimmons on the side. Prompt by Sometimesiquestionmysanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe in, Breathe out

I promised myself three things before writing the story. First, I would not use the present tense. Second, I would have a strict point of view or a non-existent one. And third, I would not attempt to write science-y stuff, since I have no grasp of the field.

I did none of the above. On with the story, now :)

 

Ward’s eyes narrow. He gestures towards the Christmas tree. “Is this supposed to look like that?”

“Yes.” Skye confirms, “And it looks awesome, if you ask me.” She brings a finger close to it and flicks at a small ornament. It jiggles.

“It looks like a snow cone.” Ward comments, scrunching up his nose. His hands quickly find themselves tangled to each other, across his chest, just like they always do when he doesn’t seem to get what the point is.

Fitz sighs. “It’s supposed to look like that, Agent Ward.” He drawls, rolling his eyes. Ward glares at him.

“And it’s more like an inverted pyramid, really.” Simmons adds delightfully, her sentence immediately followed by Fitz saying ‘Yes’ and nodding his head fervently.

“I like it.” May says, smiling briefly. She raises her shoulders slightly, “It’s festive.”

“See?” Simmons smiles brightly. “Agent May thinks it looks great and we all know what that means—“

“Absolutely.” Fitz cuts her off. He turns to Ward. “Don’t we, Agent Ward?”

Skye winks at him. “Just admit it, S.O.”

“It’s an upside-down tree.” Ward says slowly, titling his head to the side and looking really hard at it artificial branches.  

“Precisely. But,” Fitz raises a lone finger up in the air, “it’s not just an upside-down tree because this one—”

“—floats.” Simmons resumes Fitz’s sentence. She bumps his shoulder and shares a quick look with him before turning towards them all. “We put a micro chip inside the metallic trunk that generates the required energy to—”

“—propel the tree upwards and keep it floating with the minimum amount of stirring.” Fitz smiles in smugly. “And it only took me ten minutes to design the algorithm _and_ the blue prints.” He declares proudly. “Now, you might ask, ‘Fitz, how did you manage to do it that quickly?’” he asks, his voice an octave higher.

“—we really wouldn’t—” Skye tries to intervene.

“—I type very fast, so if the whole thing’s done on a keyboard, no problem.”

“Agent Ward, Agent May.” Coulson’s voice comes from behind them. He pokes his head through the open door. “You come to my office for the briefing. Skye, Fitzsimmons, wait for us in the monitor room. We’ll be there in five.” He says and steps back and out of the room.

“Alright.” Skye says slowly, drawing her eyebrows together. “So you guys will just—”

Ward and May are already exiting through the door.

“—oh, okay. Yep, got it.” Skye nods to herself and purses her lips. “No briefing for Skye. Naturally.”

Fitz turns to Simmons and exhales theatrically. “Well,” he says, clasping his hands. “that lasted longer than I expected.” He shakes his head mournfully. “Maybe this time they’ll let me use the Wondrous Tube.”

“I don’t think they will.” Simmons grimaces. “Maybe if you changed the name—”

“—not happening.”

“Of course not.”

Skye clears her throat. “Um, guys?”

Both look at her. A brief moment of silence passes and then Fitz nodds. “I’m taking it with me.”

“I’ll help.” Simmons says.

Skye watches their retreating backs. Their retreating, suspiciously-close-to-each-other, shoulders _touching,_ backs. “You gotta be kidding me.” She mutters to her herself. And then, well—then she follows them. Whatever.

*

“See, Fitz, what you’re doing wrong—” Simmons explains, her hands skirting over his keyboard.

“I’m not doing anything wrong.” Fitz replies, swatting her hands away. He hits a few keys angrily.

 “Yes, you are. You’re—”

“No.” Fitz cuts her off, shaking his head adamantly. “This thing is broken. I’m doing it perfectly.”

“Oh, Fitz, for the love of God, there’s nothing wrong with the computer.” Simmons throws her hands in the air. “Or the keyboard. Or the program. They’re all working fine.”

Fitz shakes his head stubbornly. “I did everything correctly. I don’t know why the program is not loading but it’s sure as hell not my fault!”

“Give it to me.” Simmons says and grabs it from his hands, ignoring the small, indignant noise that comes out of Fitz’s mouth. She types quickly, fingers flying on the keyboard with efficiency and a concentrated look adorns her face.

Fitz crosses his hands and straightens his back. “I told you it’s not going to w—oh.” His lips form into an ‘o’ and stay that way as the sound faints. “Well,” he coughed, leaning forward and squinting at the program, “the feed seems to be—”

“Working?” Simmons completes the sentence for him and grins.

Fitz gulps. “We are not to discuss this with anyone.” He grumbles and takes the laptop from her willing hands. “Ever.”

A knock comes from outside the van.  Both scientists tense at their seats.

Simmons glances at the door. “Who is it?” she asks in a high-pitched voice.

“Guys? Can I come inside?” A pause. “It’s Skye.” The next sentence follows matter of fact-ly.

Fitz lets out the breath he was holding. He leaps to the door and opens it.

“Finally!” Skye groans, “You took your sweet time, it’s freezing out there.”

Simmons looks up. “Actually, the temperature is rather high for Tallinn. It’s usually a lot colder.”

“Yeah, thanks for the info. Tell that to my frosted toes!” Skye shakes her head. “Wearing sneakers was a bad idea. So,” she clasps her hands together, thinks about it for a moment, and starts rubbing them for warmth, “did you guys find anything interesting?”

“Well, Fitz and I only managed to kick start the program a minute ago—”

“Hey!”

“How about you?” Simmons changes the subject smoothly. She pats the chair next to her with her hand. Skye promptly sits down, hands on her thighs.

“Ward is in position, May’s with Coulson. We’re waiting for the guards to change shifts, see if we can slip Ward in. By the way, when I say ‘we’, I mean them. They … didn’t include me after all.” Skye grimaced. “Apparently, it’s only for level five agents … or six. I don’t know.” She waves her hand in the air, the silver bracelet glinting in the half-lit room. “I’m not allowed. Naturally.” She exhales noisily and sniffed. “What about you guys?” she asks in a nasal voice.

“We’ve been instructed to stay inside,” Simmons replies, and motions at Fitz’s laptop, “alert them in case of an emergency of any sorts.”

“Really?” Skye asks incredulously. “Because you guys are sure wearing a lot of fur for that.”

Fitz shifts uneasily in his chair. “Agent Coulson did say we might be needed in the field.”

“But the chances for that are minimal.” Simmons adds reassuringly.

“We really hope we won’t have to.” Fitz says seriously. He turns his attention back to the screen of his laptop. “Everything seems to be in order; the corridor is empty—oh wait. Here comes the guard…” he leans forward, his right hand hovering over the mouse, “and here’s Agent Ward.” He announces.

Simmons brings her head next to his. “He’s taking position outside door fifteen—”

“—just where we want him,” Fitz murmurs under his breath. “Bingo. We’re good.” He turned to Skye. “Alert Coulson.”

Skye nodded. “Done.” she brings the communicator to her ear. “Hey, boss. I’m in the van with Fitzsimmons and I’m to tell you that Ward is in position—wait what?”

Both Fitz and Simmons turn to her, their expressions quizzical.

“Okay,” Skye draws the word out, listening to the other side of the line, her eyes getting steadily wider, “so let me get this straight. I’m staying in the van … alone? I’m not coming with you guys?”

“What is he saying?” Fitz asks in a sotto voice. Skye shushes him up with a distracted wave of her hand.

“I see, okay. I’m not particularly excited at the prospect—yes, yes, alright, I know. They’re level five, I’m not. I’ll let them know.”

“What did Agent Coulson say?” Simmons asks, as soon as Skye hangs up.

Fitz nods in agreement. “Yeah, what did he say?”

“Well, you’re not gonna like it.”

*

“This is a bad idea. On a list of bad ideas, just at the top of my head, this one? It’s the worst one! What is he thinking? Just because I went with Ward this one time—”

“Fitz, please stop talking so loudly.” Simmons pleaded. “We’re supposed to be …” she leans towards him and stage-whispers, “covert.”

“And if they find us out? What are we going to do? Incapacitate them by reciting the periodic table of elements?” Fitz hisses, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Bad idea,” he repeats, “I can’t even string a sentence in Estonian. How do you say ‘please don’t kill me, I didn’t want be here, they just dragged me in against my will?’”

“Nothing’s going to happen to us, Fitz. We’ve got Agent May to protect us. And Ward!” Simmons whispers back at him, her hand brushing his due to their closeness. “We’re completely and utterly safe. I promise.”

“Fitzsimmons.”

“Oh my god.” Fitz yelps and jumps. Simmons grabs his hand. She quickly lets it go.

“Coulson,” she gulps down, “thank god.”

May shakes her head, smiling wryly to herself. She whispers something to Coulson’s ear. He ignores her. He waits until Fitz and Simmons have walked up to them and then begins.

“Change of plans. We need someone to close the main power source of the building. Now, that’s situated on the lower floor of the—”

“I’ve seen the blue prints. I know where it is.” Fitz cuts him off.

Coulson nodds. “Good. Because May’s going to be on the roof and I’m needed elsewhere. I suggest you both go, one to turn down the power and another one stay guard in case someone comes. I know it’s risky but it’s a last minute change and I wasn’t expecting it. And we can’t possibly cancel—”

“The operation. We understand, sir.” Simmons completes the sentence for him.

“We do?” Fitz says doubtfully.

“There’s also the matter of the substance Ward will acquire, if all goes smoothly. It’s probably unstable and I want you, Simmons, on site. We’ll need your expertise.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, you go down there, switch off the power for exactly two minutes, get back here and find Ward. If anything, and I mean _anything,_ happens in between, you call for help. Is that clear?”

Fitz and Simmons nod simultaneously.

Coulson nods. “Excellent. Now, go.”

 May presses her lips in a thin line and watches the pair walk away warily. “I told you. This is not a good idea—”

“You did.” Coulson replies. “Let’s hope you’re wrong.”

*

“Ta-da.” Fitz says quietly. “Main power switched off? Check. Are you keeping count?”

“Yes.” Simmons whispers back, and her hand slowly finds his shoulder in the darkness of the room.

They stay like that for two minutes, and only then, they break contact as Simmons breathes out, “Two minutes.”

Fitz turns back the power. “Alright, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” He comments, and grins. “Let’s go find Ward.”

They walk towards the door and Fitz’s hand finds the doorknob. He attempts to open it to no avail.

“We’re stuck.” He whispers, eyes widening. “Oh my god, we’re stuck.”

“What?” Simmons asks in alarm. Her hand replaces Fitz’s as she tries to open the door herself. “I think we’re locked in.”

“I told you to wait outside!” Fitz exclaims, heartbeat rising. “One of us inside, the other on guard, that’s what Coulson said!”

“But there was no one here at all!” Simmons cries, putting more pressure at the door handle, willing it to open. “I’m calling Coulson.” She announces and with shaky fingers and a shaky smile, she brings the com in her ear. “It’s going to be okay.”  She whispers to herself reassuringly. “Hello? Um, sir, it’s Simmons. We think someone locked us inside the Electrical Room.”

“What is he saying?” Fitz asks, looking at her searchingly.

“Uh-uh.” Simmons nods quietly, listening at the other end. A pained expression temporarily takes over her features. “So, um, excuse me, sir but what does this mean for us?”

Fitz slides closer to her, his mouth near the com. “You’re coming to get us, right? Right?”

Simmons presses the device closer to her ear and briefly closes her eyes. “Yes, sir. We will.” She placed it back in her pocket.

“What happened? Are they coming?” Fitz presses, looking at her anxiously.

“We are to stay here and wait.” Simmons repeats Coulson’s instructions, tangling her hands together.

“We’re on our own.” Fitz says quietly, staring at the wall past Simmons.

“Yes, but Agent May and—and Coulson will come for us, as soon as they can.” She says fervently. “And we’re going to be fine. It’s not like we’re stuck in a hostile environment with no way out or that we have no noticeable combat skills whatsoever—”

“We don’t.”

“I know Fitz!” Simmons snaps, her voice verging on the hysterical. “Okay, let’s all calm down.” She says and deliberately tries to slow down her breathing. “Good, nice and quiet. It’s all fine.”

“Unless someone walks in.” Fitz says dryly.

“They can’t! The door is locked.” Simmons hisses.

“Well, then, maybe it’ll be the one that _locked_ it.” Fitz shoots back, breathing erratically. “We’re going to die.”

“No, we won’t.”

“Yes, we ar—”

They hear the door unlock, clear as a bell.

“I changed my mind.” Simmons whispers, and stands unmoving, her whole body rigid and tense.

There is a series of quiet sentences, presumably in Estonian, before the door opens fully. A short and compact woman, dressed in a military uniform walks inside, her face half hidden in the semi-lit room. She seems to be wearing night vision goggles, and so do the people standing right behind her. With a swift movement of her hand, she switches the lights off completely.

A moment of silence follows.

Fitz feels a needle pressing in his shoulder. He crumbles to the ground within seconds. Simmons follows right after. The communicator falls on the floor with a small thud.

*

Coming to after being drugged is always a surreal experience. Fitz knows this all too well. He blinks slowly at first and finds that he can’t keep his head from lolling to the side. The muscles on his neck are not the only ones that don’t seem to be doing their job, since his arms and legs are feeling like jelly, only even more unstable, if such thing was possible.

He finally opens his eyes fully and looks around. The room has a light, this Fitz understands from the fact that the light source seems to be at the middle of the ceiling, and it is switched on but the light itself is not that bright. Through his bleary eyesight, all walls look solid and grey. No windows, then. Lovely.

Disorientation? Check. Dizziness? Like a bloody rollercoaster. He’s sitting on a chair and his arms are tied to the handles. He attempts to raise his left hands’ fingers. He proceeds to add ‘impaired motor skills’ to his list of symptoms.

“Jemma?” he tries, feeling the inside of his mouth completely dry. The sound that comes out is hoarse and possibly unintelligible. And yet, there’s a shuffling from his right, and the sound of a chair creaking against the floor.

“Oh, Fitz, thank god. You’re awake.” Simmons’ voice is barely loud enough to hear but she sounds enormously relieved.

There’s some more shuffling, like Simmons’ attempting to move her chair closer to his, before she continues. “I saw you move a few minutes ago but you didn’t hear me when I talked to you. I kept saying your name, you know.”

Impaired hearing as well, then. God, what did they inject them with?

He opens his mouth to reply, but instead of words, he starts coughing. Simmons makes a small distressed noise at that.

“Take it easy, alright? Don’t try to talk if you can’t.” she pauses for a moment. “Some water would be nice, wouldn’t it? No one’s come since I woke up. And it’s so quiet.”

Fitz gives a small nod to Simmons and a congratulatory, mental nod to himself. He seems to have achieved an upright position at last. He rolls his shoulders as much as he can and straightens his back. The muscles at his neck are killing him. They must have been unconscious, stuck in that position, for hours.

He finally looks at Simmons. Really looks at her. To his immense relief, she looks fine. Yes, her hair is frazzled, her expression anxious and her skin slightly more pallid than usual, but she’s fine and that’s what’s important.

“Why haven’t the guys come to us already?” he asks, and some deep part inside him hates how his voice sounds so petulant even as he whispers.

 Simmons just looks at him. Her smile quivers around the edges and she raises her shoulders, “I don’t know, Fitz. I really don’t.”

*

“You have SHIELD logo on your bag, SHIELD logo on your jackets; you even have SHIELD logo on your water bottles. I do not understand how your agency thinks secrecy works.” The military woman comments testily, holding the aforementioned items in her gloved hands.

Simmons gulps down, “Shield is not a secret agency, per se.” she says quietly. Fitz nods in agreement.

“Interesting,” She comments, but it’s obvious she’s ignored Simmons’ words completely, “so your team got what they wanted but left you behind. That’s unfortunate. Unless of course, they would be willing for … an exchange. The rest of their team for the device they have stolen from us.”

Fitz scoffs, “Yeah right, there’s no bloody way they’re letting that happen.”

She looks at him sharply. “We’ll find that out, won’t we?” she says and turns to a soldier that’s standing to her left, “Make the call.”

The soldier nods once and brings out of her jacket’s pocket Simmons’ communicator. After a few seconds of absolute silence, Coulson’s voice comes out of the com.

_“Agent Simmons? Is that you? We seem to have lost contact with you.”_

The soldier brings the com near her boss, who starts talking, “Good afternoon, this is indralmajor Sigrid Kiisler, that is … General Major of the Estonian ground force.  My soldiers and I have in our possession two of your agents, _Shield_ agents, I believe they are.”

Only  the sound of the static can be heard on the room for quite some time, before Coulson replies.

_“This is Agent Coulson. Are agents Fitz and Simmons with you right now? Unharmed?”_

“For now, yes.” General Major Kiilser says, “No hurt has come to them which, you must understand, is a very generous act from me after what your team has done. There are two ways this can go. One, you bring us back the device you have stolen. Or two, we execute your agents. I can tell you already that my soldiers will very much like the latter option, Agent Coulson.”

_“An exchange, then. Agents Fitz and Simmons for the device.”_

“I can’t believe he actually agreed to that.” Fitz whispers to Simmons disbelievingly. Simmons’ eyes widen, hopeful at the prospect.

Kiilser ponders over Coulson’s proposal. “I accept.” She finally says.

_“Excellent. Should we do this on Estonian ground?”_

A soldier, standing further back, walks close to the General Major and shows her something on a tablet he’s holding. Kiilser slowly smiles, dark and terrible. “No, Agent Coulson. Not on Estonian ground. We meet at your plane.” She says to him.

There’s more silence on the other end of the com. Kiilser chuckles.

“Your name is famous, Agent Coulson.” She explains, “A quick search told me all I needed. My soldiers meet with yours on your plane. We bring your agents, you give us the device. It would be wise to accept. I don’t ask twice.”

 _“I accept your proposition, General Major. I will give you the coordinates of our plane right now.”_ Coulson says and proceeds to say the coordinates out loud, with a slow and clear voice.

“Thank you, Agent Coulson.” Kiilser says when he finishes before turning to the soldier that’s holding the com in her hands. “Destroy the communicator.” She orders her.

The soldier complies immediately. The com falls down on the concrete floor with a thud, screws and parts of it rolling to all directions.

They are so fucked.

*

It’s too late to tell them I’m slightly uncomfortable with closed, dark spaces, Simmons thinks as one of the soldiers put a sack over her head. Not to mention the hygiene issues, is the thought that follows, though even she has to admit that the sack does feel and smell as if it’s relatively unused if not bright new and possibly quiet clean. She hates it either way.

They put her and Fitz inside a moving vehicle of some kind (the sound makes her think it’s a truck) and slide the doors shut. A few short sentences are exchanged in Estonian and Simmons muses on how helpful it would be if Ward was here. He’d probably know enough Estonian (and not to mention martial arts) to get them out of this mess. She hunches her shoulders and waits until they start moving.

The road is bumpy and she keeps smacking against the sides of the truck she’s been seated in. By the sounds coming from her right, Fitz seems to be in a similar situation. She attempts to close her eyes and relax but all she can think of is that this exchange or whatever it is just seems _wrong_ , like it’s not going to work. At least, in their favour.

The truck stops.

The doors slide open and a hand grasps her shoulder, pulling at the fabric of her shirt.

“Out.” The man says and brings her to her feet. Simmons remains in a half-bent position, careful not to hit her head at the top of the car and stumbles outside. A second pair of footsteps, step down right after her, followed by a wince.

“Ow, bloody hell. Warn a man, alright?” Fitz mutters, and his shoulder brushes against hers accidentally.

“Could you possibly take the bags off our heads, please?” Simmons asks quietly, looking straight ahead and desperately hoping someone’s standing there.

 “Take them off. Both of them.” Kiilser says, her voice suddenly loud and very close to her. They pull the sack off her head and she blinks, her eye watering at the abrupt brightness of the sun. She yanks her hands to swipe away the tears. They’re tied behind her back. Right, she totally forgot that.

“Walk.” The soldier says and pushes her slightly at the back. Simmons rolls her eyes and starts walking. She glances at Fitz who’s walking right next to her.

“Are you okay, Fitz?” she whispers to him, licking her lips.

He nods quickly. He opens his mouth to reply but instead lets out a grunt, when the soldier situated behind him pushes him forward.

“Okay, okay! Enough. I’m moving, see? No need to push.” He tells the soldier tetchily and quickens his pace. Simmons finds it wise to do the same.

Soon enough, she looks up and sees the Bus. The cargo bay platform is lowered down and if she squints, she can distinguish Ward and May standing right at the front, with Coulson on their left and Skye right behind him. They don’t seem to be holding any weapons, she realizes with dismay.

“Hello,” Coulson starts politely when they’re close enough, “this is Agent Coulson. General Major Kiilser?” he asks, titling his head to the side.

Kiilser takes a step forward. “That would be me, Agent Coulson. This is great plane, you’ve got.”

“Thank you,” Coulson replies and turns his gaze to the scientists. “Agents Fitz, Simmons? Are you okay?”

“Yes, sir.” Simmons replies immediately.

“Good,” Coulson says and turns to Ward. He nods at him and Ward brings a suitcase forward and opens it. Inside sits a small, innocuous device, glistening in the pale sunlight.

“First the hostages,” May says in a quiet but authoritative voice, “then the device.”

Kiilser half-smiles. “Send them the boy.” She tells her soldiers and one of them brings a small knife out of her jacket and quickly slices the rope holding Fitz’s hands immobile behind his back.

“What about Jemma?” he asks immediately, looking at Simmons and then at Kiilser in alarm.

May clears her throat. “Agent Fitz, come here.”

Simmons nods desperately. “Just go, Fitz.”

A hundred emotions seem to pass over Fitz’s face but when Simmons widens her eyes and urges him silently to move, not only does he move; he _runs_. Covering the distance to the Bus takes him less time than Simmons would have thought possible and as she looks back and forth again, she realizes they’ve moved a lot closer than they were before.

“You’ve got one hostage now,” Kiilser tells May and raises her eyebrows, “give us the device.”

Ward purses his lips and looks conflicted for a second but eventually starts walking towards them. He covers half the distance and waits. With a flick of her hand, Kiilser sends one of her soldiers to cover the other half and take the device from Ward’s hands.

When the exchange is done, Kiilser smiles in satisfaction. “I would say you do good business, Agent Coulson. But I won’t say that to anyone who steals from the Estonian government.”

 “You have the device now, Major Kiilser. Let Agent Simmons go.” Coulson says, ignoring her last sentence.

“It’s General Major Kiilser, Agent Coulson.” Kiilser corrects him distastefully. “And no.”

Simmons stills at that. She looks at her team in panic and sees Ward grabbing Fitz’s arm to keep him in place. She feels queasy.

“You don’t want to do this, Kiilser.” Coulson says gravely, “Just let Simmons go and our agencies will solve this matter internally.”

“I don’t want to do this?” Kiilser repeats in disbelief, “Oh, trust me, Agent Coulson. I do. And I will. As a matter of fact,” she turns to her soldiers who at the nod once and withdraw masks from the depths of their military jackets.

They wear them with quickness and sufficiency and Kiilser does the same. It’s all over in a matter of seconds, and despite both May and Ward realizing what’s about to happen, it’s all too late. The vile smashes on the floor of the lowered cargo bay and Simmons watches as her friends are engulfed by smoke and they cough, fall to their knees and eventually crumble to the ground.

The smoke reaches her eventually as well, and her last conscious thought is, _this is probably not toxic_.

Then, it’s blackness. Again.

*

“I can’t believe our plane got high jacked. _Again_.” Skye sighs, shaking her head. “Aren’t we supposed to learn from our mistakes or something? How could we not expect that? And now we’re locked in a cupboard, Simmons is _still_ unconscious and Fitz is having a panic attack over it. That’s just great, guys!”

“I can hear you.” Fitz says and glares at her.

“Stop, both of you.” Coulson’s voice comes from the edge of the room, “I know this is hard. And I know you’re scared but we need to think of an escape plan.”

“Escape and re-claim our plane, right? I kinda got used to it now.” Skye comments, biting her lip. “Sorry.” She adds quietly.

“Fitz, any ideas?” May asks, expression inquisitive.  Fitz, still leaning over the unconscious Simmons, shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly, “I can’t think right now.”

May cocks her head, hands firmly on her hips. “And why’s that?”

Fitz exhales shakily. “You don’t understand. I can’t think when—when I’m upset. And right now, I’m upset because we’ve all woken up minutes ago and Jemma’s still unconscious and this is the second time we’ve been drugged in less than twenty four hours and I’m not sure if that has anything to do with it or if there are implications—”

“Fitz, take a breath.” Ward cuts him off, and kneels next to him on the floor, “You’re going to make yourself sick and we need you here. Escape plan? Preferably something that involves me punching people.”

Fitz rubs his hand over his eyes roughly. “Alright, alright. Escape plan, okay. We need to get out of here and um, get them out of the plane. Eh, do we know where they are?”

“There were ten, one in the pilot pit certainly; I’d say the rest are going to be in the command center, maybe the lounge.”  Ward replies swiftly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Fitz nods distractedly. “If we get to the command center, I could contact the Hub. Wait, the cargo bay is detachable.” He exclaims, eyes widening as the idea starts forming in his head. “If you could get them all there, I could just disengage it and throw them out!”

“In the middle of the flight?” Skye asks, eyebrows knitting together.

Fitz’s expression hardens, eyes flicking to Simmons. “Serves them right.” He scowls, and glances at Coulson. “I want to do this, sir.”

Coulson’s gaze locks on Fitz’s face and remains there for a long, contemplating moment. Finally, he says, “Agent May, you’re taking Agent Fitz to the command center, make sure he’s safe. Skye, you stay here with Agent Simmons until she wakes up. Don’t come looking for us. Ward, you come with me. Our job will be to lead Kiilser’s soldiers toward the cargo bay, correct?” he asks and turns to Fitz for confirmation.

“Yes, sir.” Fitz replies readily. He gets on his feet and May moves next to him.

“Let’s go.” She says quietly and takes hold of his arm. Fitz flinches at the action but wills his muscles to relax.

“Ready?” Ward asks the team and as soon as he receives the confirmation, he kicks the door of the cupboard open.

“Impressive.” Skye whistles. Ward stares at her.

She grimaces. “Sorry.”

Ward shakes his head. “Sir?” he asks Coulson who comes forth.

“Let’s do this, agents. Good luck.”

Skye watches them as they run the long corridor, splitting into two groups at the end of it. May and Fitz go to the left, for the command center. Ward and Coulson go to the right, for the cargo bay.

“What about the pilot?” Skye asks them as loudly as she can but they’re already long gone.

“Damnit.” She swears under her breath and gets back inside the cupboard.

“Okay, Jemma, time to wake up!” she says as she sits cross-legged on the dusty floor next to her. “You’re missing all the action, here. Seriously.”

“Action?” comes Simmons’ hoarse response.

Skye blinks. “Whoa, hello. Good, welcome back to the living,” she shakes her head. “That was quicker than I expected. How are you feeling? Is the answer hungry because if yes, _god_ , so am I. I was so worried about you guys, I totally forgot to eat my lunch. Ouch.”

Simmons raises herself on her elbows and looks around blearily. “Where’s Fitz?”

“Good question,” Skye replies, “He’s with May. They went to the command center.”

Simmons frowns at her in confusion. “Why?”

“Oh, right, yes. We … kind of got high jacked? Again. I mean weird, right? And Fitz had this plan to throw the bad guys off the plane but he needed get to, well, the command center for that. And May went with him because she’s badass, to protect him.”

Simmons’ head seemed to be doing something in between lolling drunkenly and nodding.

“Oookay,” she draws out the word as she attempts to get on her feet. Skye grabs her hand and helps her up. Simmons leans back and forth for a few seconds before eventually finding her balance.

“Let’s go find Fitz,” she says, and takes a determined (albeit a bit unstable) step towards the half opened door. “Need to find Fitz.” She repeats quietly  to herself.

“Wait a second there.” Skye tells her, “Like, okay, I’m surprised this is coming out of my mouth but Coulson told us to stay here.”

Simmons shakes her head. “I don’t care, I want to go and find Fitz.”

“No, no, no. Wait. Didn’t you tell me once you like following the rules? This is definitely not following the rules. What happened to ‘doing what I’m told makes me feel nice’?”

“What happened to ‘screw the authorities’?” Simmons fires back, already outside the cupboard.

“Now you wanna be part of my bad girl shenanigans?” Skye cries, running after her in the corridor.

Simmons shrugs, quickening her pace. “Better late than ever.”

“Timing, Simmons, timing.” Skye says, “These people are dangerous, they kidnapped you! By the way, are you okay? They didn’t do anything weird to you guys, did they?”

“Just drugged us and then tied us up.” Simmons answers simply and comes to a halt at the end of the corridor. “Left for the command center,” she mutters under her breath and turns to the left, Skye in toe.

“Okay, that’s good. Not very … invasive. Still think we shouldn’t be roaming around the plane—our high-jacked, may I remind you, plane—alone. I mean, we don’t even have a weapon on our hands!” she pauses, “Do you even know how to use a weapon?”

“How hard can it be?” Simmons tells her, her tone agitated.

Skye chuckles. “Don’t tell Ward that.”

Simmons doesn’t reply to her. Instead, she keeps on walking. Skye bites her lip.

“Jemma? Um, seriously, don’t.”

*

“Stay outside.” May mouths at Fitz, as they both stand outside the command center. There are four soldiers inside, three men and a woman. Fitz glances quickly inside and steps back, leaning against the solid wall.

“Okay,” he breathes quietly, “I’m just going to ... stay here and be quiet,” he whispers to himself, and makes himself as small as possible. He hears May shuffle next to him and then most likely walks in the room because the next few minutes are filled with grunts, thuds and other noises, followed by the breaking of glass and then silence.

“Get in,” he hears May say. He expands his chest, takes a deep, determined breath and nods.

“Okay,” he repeats to himself and quickly stumbles inside. He sees the computer system immediately and runs towards it. The screen of the table is broken in some places but it seems to be working sufficiently. He opens the interface and starts typing frantically.

“It’s not going to take long,” he tells May whose gaze alternates between looking at the door and back at him. Her left hand is holding an automatic weapon she has presumably taken from the soldiers she fought with and she squats down to pick up a discarded communicator with her right.

“Do it quick,” she tells him, her voice strained and on edge, “More people will arrive soon.”

Fitz nods distractedly, fingers still flying over the flat, touch-up keyboard.

“Five minutes,” he says.

May shakes her head. “Make it less.”

*

“Hey, hey. Slow down!” Skye cries softly, as she tries to catch up once again to Simmons’ agitated walking, “People with weapons might jump on us,” she hisses at her, “I don’t want to die today, you know. Actually, I don't wanna die in general.”

“No one’s here.” Simmons replies and keeps on walking, looking straight ahead. They turn to the left, and the command center’s entrance can be seen at the end of the hallway.

“Yeah, okay, that’s true, a bit suspicious but … actually, what the hell?” Skye looks around as if realizing it just now. “Where is everybody?”

*

Ward’s nose is bloody and his right hand is starting to feel numb, yet he holds at the communicator tightly while he punches the soldier across from him right at the chest. The soldier lets out a small grunt and falls down on the floor. She struggles to get up, but decides to inch towards her left instead where her weapon has fallen on the floor of the cargo bay. He kicks her in the arm and throws the weapon further away. The soldier lets her head fall back on the floor with a thud and groans.

“All three are down, sir but they won’t be for long. Should I contact Agent May?” he asks Coulson, who is straightening the creases on his suit as he gets back on his feet. The back of his palm comes up with blood smeared on it.

“I don’t hear anyone coming and we made plenty of noise. May has probably dealt with the rest. I’m sure Kiilser’s on the pilot seat,” he pauses, seems to consider Ward’s suggestion and nods, “Contact her. And then we get out of here before Fitz blows us out of the plane.”

“Good idea, sir.” Ward says and places the com close to his mouth. “Agent May? It’s Ward. You guys are ready?”

*

May looks over to Fitz, who’s hunched over the table. “Agent Fitz, are you finished?”

“Not yet,” Fitz says, voice strained.

May glances at the door. “Any minute now.”

Fitz nods frantically. “I can do this, I type fast. Just … a few more seconds, I’m almost there.”

May purses her lips, and tightens her grip on the gun. She brings the communicator to her mouth. “Get out of there now.” He tells them.

_“Already out, coming over to you.”_

In retrospect, May isn’t certain whether she even heard a sound, or caught any movement on the corner of her eyes. In retrospect, she’s not all that certain if the guilt should be washing over her like this, if talking to Ward distracted her or she wouldn’t have noticed it in time anyway. Somewhere deep inside her, she feels angry, that all her skill and experience didn’t prevent this from happening.

There’s a blurry shape at the corner of her eye and it moves dizzyingly fast. She turns towards it swiftly and raises her weapon, her finger moving to the trigger, ready to press it.

The soldier’s on his feet, at the edge of the room and raises his gun as well. May’s stomach drops when she realizes where the barrel of his gun is pointing to.

“Duck,” she screams and fires at the same time he does.

She waits until his lifeless body falls on the floor. She doesn’t let herself think too much about the bullet that’s gone through his forehead or how easy it was to do so (or, a small voice in her head whispers, _satisfying_ ). Instead, she turns and runs towards Fitz.

She halts when she reaches him. He’s still standing up, though he’s leaning against the table and he’s biting his lip hard enough to bleed, his expression scrunched up. There is a bar, slowly filling up on the screen beneath his waiting finger and once it’s filled to the end, he presses on it.

“Did it.” He says and his knees buckle underneath him and he slides down the floor. There’s broken glass scattered on the floorboards and he winces as he sit down on them.

The plane trembles and leans forward slightly. May’s hand flies to Fitz’s collar and he grabs him tightly. She grips the table with her other hand and waits until they’ve stabilized. There’s a loud, creaking noise coming from their left and Coulson’s voice vibrates from her fallen communicator.

_“Cargo bay disengaged. Agent May, are you still at the command center?”_

May squats, takes the com in her hands and shakes it until the small glass pieces slide off of it. “We are,” she snaps, “Go find Kiilser. She’s bound to have realized something went wrong but she won’t leave the cockpit. Get rid of her, then contact HQ and set a course to the nearest land.”

There’s some shuffling and Ward’s voice comes out of the com this time.

_“Are you hurt?”_

“Not me.” She replies and places the com next to her on the floor. She looks at Fitz and tries to assess the damage. He’s leaning back and he’s looking at her fearfully.

“I ducked when you told me,” he tells her quietly, “though more like, to the side but—” his left hand is covering the top of his right arm, his fingers pressing tightly and making creases on his shirt.  He slowly withdraws it, and looks at his palm that’s covered in dark-coloured blood with a mesmerizing stare.

“Is it too late to say I’m scared of blood?” he whispers to May and briefly closes his eyes.

“I need to see if it’s a graze or if it’s hit a main artery.” She says, ignoring Fitz’s words, and lets her fingers trace the part of his arm where the blood is leaking out.

“I think I’m in denial.” Fitz murmurs, eyes still shut, and he stands rigidly still as May continues her exploration of the wound. “You don’t die from superficial wounds, do you?”

May exhales audibly. “It’s not a superficial wound.”

Fitz’s eyes fly open and he glances at her in panic. “It’s not?”

“The bullet has hit the brachial artery. You’re bleeding a lot but—” she pauses and circles his wrist with her middle finger and thumb, “your pulse is stable enough. Can you just lean forward a little?” she asks him and places her palm on his back. She guides him a few centimeters forward and her other hand traces the back of his arm. “No exit wound,” she makes note and lets him lie back against the solid surface of the table again.

“How is your breathing?” May asks, as she momentarily stands up and walks over to one of the fallen soldiers. She rips off the sleeve of his uniform and returns to her kneeling position next to Fitz. She wraps the clothing around the wound and presses tightly. Fitz screams.

“Breathing?” she reminds him and Fitz shakes his head, his eyes tightly shut. Tears are leaking out through his eyelashes and sliding down his cheeks.

“Fine, god, that _hurt_ ,” he bites out.

“Good,” May replies and applies more pressure to the wound, “Try not to move too much,” she tells him seriously. The communicator next to her vibrates and she stifles a groan.

“What?” she asks, and blindly reaches with her left hand for the device.

_“We have a problem.”_

“What kind of problem?” May asks, tightening her grip on Fitz’s arm. Fitz lets out a whimper.

_“I set the course but for some reason, auto pilot has been disabled and as much as it pains me to admit—I don’t know how to fly this thing.”_

May glances at Fitz regretfully. “Damnit. I’m coming there. Get down on the command center _now_.” She tells Ward and puts the com in her jacket’s pocket.

She turns to Fitz, takes his right hand and replaces her own on his arm. “Keep it there, hold it tight, don’t pass out. Okay? That was an order.”

Fitz nods weakly. “Good one, very precise.” He tells her, drawing in a shaky breath. “You’re going now?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. It’s for your own good.” She replies to his question and gets up on her feet.

She runs to the door and bumps into someone. She must be more upset than she thought for not noticing someone standing in her way. She looks up. “Agent Simmons?” she asks but Simmons is staring over her shoulder, her mouth wide open.

“Oh god, Fitz.” She whispers and pushes May to the side to run inside the room. May takes a slick step back, her upper body leaning away from Simmons, and lets her through.

She turns to Skye who has put her hands over her mouth. “What happened?” she asks May in a wobbly voice, though the answer is obvious enough.

May doesn’t have time for this. “I need to go now. Take care of him.” She pauses, thinks it over and adds, “Take care of her, too.” And with that, she dashes.

Skye steps a little further inside the room, feeling irrationally reluctant and scared. If she sees the damage from up-close, that makes it so much more _real_ and fuck, she has come to care about those people so much, brought them in her life like they brought her in theirs and she just can’t do this right now, this can’t happen and she _can’t breathe_.

Simmons is kneeling next to Fitz and Fitz perks up when she enters his line of vision but Simmons shakes her head and places a hand on his chest. She gently pushes him back down.

“Simmons,” Fitz starts, and then closes his eyes. A minute shake of his head follows and he re-opens them. “Jemma,” he says now, “look, I’m okay. The bullet hit my shoulder so n-no vital organs have been damaged. That’s good, right?”

“Yes, that’s good.” Simmons confirms and places her hand over his, where he’s still pressing on the wounded shoulder. “Your grip was slacking,” she whispers and licks her lips.

“I’m sorry,” Fitz tells her, and tries to sit up straighter.

“Don’t move.” Simmons warns him then, her voice suddenly tight.

Fitz lets out a groan. “My arm hurts and now my back hurts as well, just let me change posi—”

“No, no, no.” Simmons shakes her hand. “No moving, Fitz.”

Fitz nods but his whole body shudders violently.

“Fitz, stand still!” Simmons cries out.

“That wasn’t me! I didn’t do that, it just happened.” Fitz tells her and he’s panting now, “I’m trying to stay still, okay? It’s really challenging when your shoulder hurts like it’s been shot. Because it _has_ been shot!”

“Okay,” Simmons says with mock cheerfulness and plasters a fake smile on her face. “It’s going to be _al-_ right! Everything’s going to be alright.”

“Alright.” Fitz repeats quietly.

“Good.” Simmons sniffs, and her smile momentarily falters. She looks at her hand, where blood still drips from between her fingers and slides down her outer palm and further down the sleeve of her shirt. With her other hand, she tears out the bottom of her shirt. She takes the torn fabric and momentarily removes her hand from Fitz’s shoulder, puts the extra clothing over the previous one and presses her hand on the wound again.

The fabric gets soaked up almost immediately but the blood flow seems to have slowed down. She breathes out shakily.

“My shirt is a mess,” Fitz says then, his head lolling slightly to the side, as his eyes slide close again.

“That’s okay; you didn’t like that shirt anyway,” Simmons tells him in a trembling voice and licks the salty tears away when they land on her lips.

Fitz opens his eyes at that. “I didn’t?” he asks suspiciously.

“Of course not, silly,” Simmons shakes her head, “you—you didn’t like that shirt because it’s not the one that brings out your eyes. That's the burgundy one, remember?"

“But I do like this shirt,” Fitz insists, though his eyes barely focus on Simmons anymore, “it’s the one you gave me for my birthday last year.”

Simmons’ eyes widen. “It is?” she asks, her voice choked up, “I totally forgot that. Fitz?”

“Simmons?” comes Skye’s voice from the door. “Is—is he okay?”

Simmons doesn’t hear her. She leans closer to Fitz’s face. His eyes are closed and his expression has gone completely slack. “Fitz?” she repeats quietly, her breath caught in her throat.

There are footsteps on the corridor and Ward and Coulson walk in the room at once. Skye brings a hand up when Ward opens his mouth to speak. He stays silent but a pained expression overtakes his features as well as Coulson’s.

Simmons cradles the back of Fitz’s head with her free hand, fingers tagging at the curls. She buries her own head in his neck and whispers, “Leo?”

No one speaks as she stays like that for minutes, completely still, just the sound of her quiet sobbing echoing in the room.

No one speaks as May announces through the speaker phone that they’ve landed and that a stretcher is waiting outside.

No one speaks during the ride to the hospital. Simmons is the only that travels inside the ambulance. No one tries to keep her apart from Fitz.

It’s four hours later when Skye bursts into the waiting room with a huge smile on her face and exclaims, “Fitz is awake, and _god_ , he’s so pumped up on drugs, he’s seeing elephants dressed as differential equations.”

And that’s when they do. That’s when they laugh.

_Fin_

 

 

 

 


End file.
